For some time I was with a large gathering of people in a tightly-packed, dimly-lit room, and this seemed like a very long part of the dream, though I can remember little of it.
Eventually I leave with a small group of people through a forest. Up ahead, we can see this road turning left, cutting into the forest. Somehow the blacktop is on fire, and my curiosity pushes me to go ahead of the others. Though the fire certainly should not have died given the time it took me to run there, by the time I get there the blacktop is only smoking, and for some reason I put down my book bag and take off my shoes before stepping down on it. I follow the turn, lined by a thick, green cave of trees and see what seems like a ball of fire swiftly shooting from the woods, passed me and up into the sky.
Then the rest of the group catches up. I don’t even mention the ball of fire so far as I can recall; I do remember figuring they would not have witnessed it given my luck anyway. As they follow me into the woods, we see these little holes — in some places they look like holes dug into the spaces between train tracks — where cats and dogs had hidden together and died. We journey through the forest away from the road and see a gas station and I plan to go inside to ask if they saw anything, if they knew what had happened here. Once I go inside I realize I left my wallet in my book bag and have no money to buy anything, so I feel awkward about asking them questions and never do.
In a later scene, my mother drives us (or in the very least me) along a highway with white roads, and when we stop at some point — apparently in the middle of this sparsely-populated highway — she sees someone she knows but hasn’t seen in a long time. The whole circumstance — maybe it’s the flat expanse of concrete, the white roads — somehow reminds me of the flashback of the Goblin Man I had when I was sixteen. I want to ask her about it. Before I do, however, I wake up.